


you were doomed, but just enough

by kblaze2



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 01:37:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14485977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kblaze2/pseuds/kblaze2
Summary: "Steve?"





	you were doomed, but just enough

**Author's Note:**

> INFINITY WAR SPOILERS!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> i cried while writing this

—

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” Steve looks up. Bucky’s staring at him, biting his lip, framed in a halo of white. The lab is so bright. Bucky sits against a backdrop of sunlight, strands of his hair coming down to frame his face, graze his cheekbones. His eyes look bluer than Steve has seen in the past few weeks. Steve is drawn to it, to whatever it is that still manages to glow inside Bucky Barnes after all this time. Steve smiles small, as he waits for Bucky to speak. “Yeah, Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes flick down, for a moment, eyelashes fanning dark across his skin. In the summer, if you were close enough, you could see the freckles that dusted there. Steve was always close, always saw every bit of Bucky, though he never felt it was enough. Even wrapped up in Bucky he couldn’t feel close enough, but it didn’t stop him from trying. He’s always chasing after him, it seems. Now — God, now. Now, he feels lucky enough to be in the same room as Bucky, even under these circumstances.

Steve reaches out, hand still littered with cuts and bruises, and tucks some of that fallen hair back behind Bucky’s ear. His fingers trail gently down the expanse of Bucky’s neck, tracing his shoulder. The black cap sleeve feels silky to the touch, covering what was left of Bucky’s arm. Steve tries not to linger, and walks his fingers back and down, coming to cup Bucky’s side, thumb tracing arcs across his ribs through the thin tank top.

Bucky exhales. He takes Steve’s other hand with his, and turns his head up. Blue meets blue, and Bucky turns a smile on him. It goes straight to his heart. “Thanks,” Bucky says. “For, you know, understanding.”

Steve’s heart squeezes, twisting tight in his chest. He swallows. “Of course, Buck. Whatever you need. It’s your choice.” Steve can’t fight that, no matter how much he wants to. Never close enough, never close enough still, with Bucky here in Wakanda. If Bucky wants this, if this will make him feel safe, then Steve will be damned if he denies him that. Steve wants more than anything for Bucky to be safe. Even if it’s not with him. He’ll be safe here, Steve thinks. Until the next fight — until he isn’t. Until.

Bucky smiles at him again, and Steve feels the lingering fight in him leave. Bucky’s safe, and happy for the most part, secure in his decision. Steve will be okay. Bucky will be okay. They just need more time, is all.

Steve brings his hand up to cup Bucky’s head, and pulls him in. Bucky’s forehead rests solid against his sternum, falling perfectly into place under Steve’s chin. Bucky’s arm wraps around Steve and holds. And holds and holds. They could never lose each other, not after all of this. Steve traces his lips against Bucky’s head and thinks of a future they always dreamt of but never imagined; hopes for it.

The time comes for them to break.

“Hey, Rogers,” Bucky says, right before he steps in. Steve raises an eyebrow, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to keep control as he breathes harshly through his nose. Everything in him aches to touch. Bucky shoots him a smile. “See you on the flipside.”

The tube closes, and a cloud surrounds Bucky’s still face.

—

“Steve?”

Bucky’s walking towards him, basket still in his hand. His stance is wary, eyeing Steve under furrowed brows.

Shuri stands awkwardly beside Steve, and he sees her shift out of the corner of his eye. How could he take his eyes off Bucky? Bucky, who is moving, who is awake, who is healthier, a basket of grain in his hand. Wrapped up in red and blue cloth, tied at his left side. His hair hangs to his shoulders, a sheen amongst the gentle waves. His eyes are clear, grayer today; steady as they take in Steve, who’s grown a beard and grown out his hair in the past six months.

“I called him,” Shuri says to Bucky, gesturing to Steve.

Slowly, a smile spreads on Bucky’s face. Steve takes a step forward.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Steve hears low from behind him, along with the sound of retreating steps.

Bucky sets the basket on the ground as Steve approaches him.

“Hi,” Steve says. Not close enough. Exposed here in this sunlight, surrounded by grass and trees and the Wakandan sky. Close enough to touch Bucky but not close enough.

“Hi,” Bucky breathes back, feeling warm under Steve’s hand. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Steve stays, swallowing. His hand comes to Bucky’s hair. “Is that — is that okay?”

Bucky snorts, curling rough fingers around Steve’s wrist. “Yeah, it’s okay, you big lug.”

Steve’s grinning at Bucky now, and Bucky grins back, and then their lips meet in an instant. An explosion of colors, warmth swirling around Steve’s chest, the tendrils grasping and tugging at his heart. He steps closer, though there’s not much more space for him to fill. Bucky’s hand drags across Steve’s beard, fingers resting just at the line of exposed skin. Steve feels Bucky’s pulse through the touch on his cheek, and tips Bucky’s head back farther, kissing deeper. Trying to climb inside as he always has. Seventy years of waiting.

Steve takes Bucky in, all he can grab, all he can find as their mouths meld together, tongues tracing, hearts racing. Steve holds tighter, and makes up for all the waiting; makes up for all their lost time. Steve’s only regret is losing time with Bucky, Bucky losing time with himself. Steve wishes they could take it all back. He’ll settle for stealing it, in these moments he’s granted, due to T’Challa’s grace and sanctuary. Bucky deserves both after all these lost years.

Steve does his best to convey this as he wraps Bucky up in his frame, presses himself against him, lips locked with his, the only man he’s ever loved.

Bucky breathes heavy against him when they break, chests heaving together. Steve peppers his cheekbones with gentle kisses, fingers tangled in the ends of Bucky’s hair. Bucky exhales, and exhales, and exhales, and it’s a beautiful sound, Steve thinks. He presses his lips to the Bucky’s forehead, lingering, and Bucky huffs.

“What, you miss me or something?”

Steve knows the smirk is there on Bucky’s face, doesn’t bother looking down to check. Just smiles against his skin, holding him close. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s frame, and pulls him in as close as the laws of physics allow. Bucky’s head rests against Steve’s shoulder, and they breathe.

—

“Steve?”

Bucky’s breath fans across Steve’s collarbone, warm and hushed in the privacy of Bucky’s hut. Steve’s fingers trace the slats of Bucky’s ribs, sitting under an expanse of tanned skin. Bucky’s own fingers rest against Steve’s hips, tracing trivial gentle patterns.

Steve turns to face him, their noses centimeters apart. Steve searches for the freckles he remembers, and finds them there, just barely, even in the dusky light. Constellations span Bucky’s skin, just as they dot his eyes. Steve paints him in his mind, a mix of pastels all coming together to create the angel lying here before him, committing him to memory and art. Steve could never forget this face, this soul he loves, this heart he bares his own for.

His hand comes to rest on Bucky’s face, and Bucky’s eyes flutter at Steve’s touch. Steve presses his lips against Bucky’s, soft, gentle, loving, thumb arcing over the crafted artwork of a soul with too much to give, too much light inside. The world has tried to snuff it out of him, and here, he’s gained it back. Wakanda shone on him, gifted him himself back, and led him to the new parts of himself. Steve pulls back, and his eyes trace a small scar in Bucky’s eyebrow.

“Tell me,” Bucky whispers, hand sliding up Steve’s chest. He swallows, frowning for a moment. Then he presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder, and settles himself against him, arm tightening around Steve’s torso. “Tell me the future,” he says.

“The future?” Steve asks, resting his chin on the curve of Bucky’s head.

“Yeah. I told you I’d take us there, didn’t I? And I did. You fill in the rest,” he requests, pinching the skin of Steve’s side lightly.

Steve chuckles, and abides. “Okay,” he says, and twists his legs up with Bucky’s, smiling when Bucky inhales sharp through his teeth at the touch of Steve’s feet to his calves.

“In a country that’s kissing the equator and you still manage to have freezing feet,” he mutters into Steve’s shoulder. Steve smacks his.

“Shh. I’m trying to tell a story.”

Bucky bites him. Steve only indulges him, tightening his hold.

“Well, for starters, we’re back in Brooklyn. An apartment on the top floor, near Prospect Park. Definitely bigger than that shoebox we used to live in. There’s working water and heat, and a bed big enough for the two of us.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Bucky drawls, head heavy against Steve.

“It is. We spend a lot of time there, or at this bookstore across the street. You know they have bookstores and bakeries in the same place now? We sit there and drink our coffee and read books about everything until the sun goes down and they kick us out. Sometimes I sit there and draw you. And you have a journal you write in. I paint at home. And we have this stupid terrier mutt that yaps all day and sits at our feet, keeping us company. Like the one we saw the once, scrounging for scraps outside the deli, you remember?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, quiet. “I called him Milo. Fed him whatever I could haggle off others for a bit. Wonder where he went.”

“He got adopted by a nice couple better off than us,” Steve assures. “And we got his great-great-great-uhhh great-grandson.”

Bucky snorts. “Shut up,” he says, waving a tired hand against Steve’s chest. Steve just takes it in his own, and brings it up to his lips for a kiss.

“What? It’s true,” Steve counters, resting their hands back on his stomach. “You also plant flowers, and herbs; there’s green everywhere. All along the counters, on tables, littering the windowsill, we can barely step out onto the fire escape because of all your plants. I try to help you take care of them but you don’t let me — which is for the best, really. You were always the one with the green thumb.” Bucky hums against him, and Steve knows he’s drifting off into sleep.

Steve continues his story, dropping his voice into a low cadence as he listens for Bucky’s breathing to even out. “No one bothers us there. It’s just you and me. We keep ourselves busy. We host dinner parties where you cook amazing food. I bake some good desserts. It’s the only time Sam genuinely compliments you. Nat brings salad because it’s the only thing she can make you’d want to eat — trust me. Wanda plays with our dog, and we invite Vision even though he creeps you out — he’s morphed now, I don’t know if I told you. Looks completely human, but can phase back fully or partly to his original state. He always looks human for you when he comes over.”

Bucky’s not listening anymore, Steve can tell. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, hand limp in Steve’s own. Steve doesn’t mind. Bucky’s safe, and here against him, closer than ever before. Steve holds him, drags his lips over his head, and settles with him; settles his heart alongside Bucky’s.

“It’s quiet in our apartment. We make love in our bed, and sleep just like this. We don’t feel like we’re stealing time anymore — we have all the time in the world there.”

—

“Steve?”

It’s the last time he hears it.

Time slows down, cruelly, as Steve’s eyes lock in on Bucky’s own, confused. Scared. Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He can’t move. The scene unfolds before him, not close enough. Bucky’s arm breaking apart before them, scattering away. The rest of him gets eaten up by nothing, turning to dust. His gun falls to the ground, clatters. There’s no noise when Bucky falls. Only dust. Dust and dust. Steve can only watch.

Not close enough. Why is he never close enough?

He’s kneeling at the place where Bucky just stood, and there’s nothing. Nothing but dust. Ashes cover the ground, a dismal gray on this fresh green. This green that kept Bucky safe. Until.

Steve presses his hand to the earth and stares, willing him to come back. This can’t be real. He _needs_ this not to be real. He needs — time. Always more fucking time. A stone easily manipulated by a Titan, yet it’s always a luxury they’ve never been afforded. They’re always out of time.

He thinks back to a few months ago, when he laid in bed beside Bucky and spoke of a future he believed in, a future where they were free from it all for once. It felt like he was sending promises into the air around them, tracing truths with his words as sure as he traced memories. All that’s faded away with the molecules of Bucky. His bones, his skin, his golden arm, his golden heart; his mind. His soul. Gone, in an instant.

Steve is desperate, as the wind continues around them. He doesn’t look, he can’t. He goes for Vision, there’s hope there, he thinks. But all he finds is more gray. Gray and fallen. Steve stretches a hand covered in dust over his still frame, turns him over, and sees the unbearable truth. Steve’s heart bleeds with it, the sight of the Mind Stone gone — an ugly, jagged hole in its place as large as the one tearing open Steve’s chest.

There is nothing. The stone is gone. Thanos is gone. Bucky is —

He wasn’t fucking close enough.

Steve sits, collapsed. Dimly, footsteps register around him. He knows the bodies of his teammates surround him, but it’s not enough — the rest of them gone. All fucking gone. Steve only aches. Rhodey asks questions he can’t answer. Questions he can’t comprehend, answers he doesn’t want to be real. But they are. As real as Bucky was under his fingertips just hours ago.

Steve crumbles.

“Oh, God.”

—

**Author's Note:**

> it should've been me


End file.
